


bad at titles oof

by boyewithane



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, depression I guess?, habit's depressed yknow how it be, there's nothing actually bad in it it's just like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 11:50:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyewithane/pseuds/boyewithane
Summary: habit has depression! that's it that's the plot





	bad at titles oof

Boris Habit was lounging around, just as he always did. He never left the home, not anymore, he had everything delivered to him. He used to go out. He would go grocery shopping with Kamal all the time. He didn't know if you're supposed to drag your assistants out shopping with you, but he did, and it seems now like Kamal was the only reason he actually went anywhere back then. Oh well, he burnt that bridge when it rained on Martha, he supposed he deserved staying inside all day at this point. He should go outside at some point, though. Probably. Maybe. Sometime, eventually. He knew that it'd never happen, but he still liked to hope that maybe he'd snap out of whatever funk had gotten into him.

This was all besides the point. Habit glanced at the clock, glowering when he noticed that 10 minutes has passed while he had his internal monolog. Sighing, he turned back to his ceiling, a steep slope that was painted a rich, reddish orange and covered in dental-related graffiti. He slept on his couch, a couch that had a pull out mattress. He didn't know it had a pull out mattress when he bought it, he just kind of. Discovered it when he realized he had nowhere to sleep. Flipping himself over, he smushed his face in his PillowPet and groaned, pulling his covers around himself to create a little cocoon of blankets and body heat.

All of this was besides the point. The point was, Boris Habit was bored and stuck. He wanted to do something with his time, but the issue was there wasn't anything he actually wanted to  _ do! _ Drawing? No, he'd have to get up, and drawing requires effort, moving a pencil and all that. He flipped over. Writing? No, he didn't feel like writing either, he didn't have any ideas. He flipped over, his head turned so that he was looking at the side of his room with the door. Music? He squinted his eyes, because  _ of course he forgot his instruments _ . His organ was just  _ sitting _ at his old house, completely unused! Of course he still owned the house but still. He closed his eyes, bringing the covers over his head. He wanted to nap more. He couldn't, though, he had been napping all day. He knew it wasn't a good idea to nap all the time, but it was so very tempting.

He opened his eyes to stare at the patterns on the inside of his duvet. It was technically the outside, but the normal inside patterns were so very boring and he wanted the cool stuff to be what he saw as he fell asleep. He closed his eyes again. Then opened them and turned his head, pulling down the covers a little so he could see the window. He liked the window, he liked it a lot. He got to see the entire Habitat from here, and it was oh so lovely to see. Sometimes. Other times he couldn't see it, because he was in bed. Or cleaning. That was really all he did these days. Sleep, clean. Watch. Eat. Make PSAs.

He pushed himself off the bed with a start. His eyes immediately fixed onto where his little puppet lay unused on the floor. It was next to his desk, because that was where he half chucked it when he was done with the last batch of PSAs. Sliding off the bed in the same manner that a snake would slither, he landed with a thunk, close enough to his puppet that he could reach out and grab it. Sliding it over his hand, he wiggled his fingers to find a comfy position, opening and closing the mouth a bit and moving his arm around to practice the movements, getting back into the jive of the PSAs.

Then he realized that he had no idea what to make. His smile turned into a frown, which turned into a sigh and staring out his window. It really was a beautiful view from up here. Dropping fully to the floor and sitting up, he looked back at the puppet, tilting it's head back and forth. Then, speaking in a higher pitch than his normal 'accent' he spoke in sync with the puppets moving mouth. "Wha't's Wrong, Boris? Feeling 'blue'?" the puppet 'said', voice a little too high for the PSAs. Oh well.

Habit sighed, letting his accent slip away. "I don't know, I just… Don't feel like doing  _ anything! _ It's all so boring boring boring, and it all takes too much energy, and I just want to do everything  _ later. _ " He held the puppet up again, looking it in its felt eyes, searching for something. He didn't know what he was searching for. "It never ends up happening, either. I try to do my chores but I end up taking naps instead, I brush my teeth but I never brush my hair while I'm in the bathroom, and speaking of the bathroom I barely bathe!" He looked down at the puppet's cute little hands, recalling fondly when he made them. He hasn't made much in a while. He should make things again. "It's like… feeling like you want to go home, but you can't because you're already there." He stares out the window, towards the Terrace. "I miss Kamal."

He looks back at the puppet, which has dropped into his lap. He moved it around a little, attempting to imitate how it'd look if it were thinking. Then, slipping back into his accent, he let the puppet speak. "Well, 'Boris' it sound s lik U have a case of…" he didn't know honestly, "Blues? May-b U shud tak a 'walk'!" He scrunched up his face. He hadn't thought of it until he said it. The wonders of talking to yourself.

"'May-b' I should," he said, "May-b." He got up, dropping the puppet and walking to where his coat hung. He didn't bother getting into anything else, just the coat. And his slides. He had those too. He took a step out his door, bursting with newfound motivation, and immediately felt exhausted. Frowning, he closed his door, kicked off his shoes and fell back into his bed. Sighing, he grabbed laptop from where it sat on the wooden chair that he used as a bedside table. Flipping it open, he decided to take a look into what might have befallen him.

An hour and a half later, Habit accepted a simple truth that he had been neglecting for a long, long time: He had depression. He slapped his laptop closed, smiling slightly at the satisfying noise it made. That smile quickly vanished. He glanced back over to his puppet, picking it up and sliding it over his hand. "Guess you were right, Puppet."

"Yup! I am Al-ways rite!!" He smiled again. He opened the laptop with the puppet's mouth, using his other hand to type 'therapist' into the search bar. "And now, We r goign 2 Mak it Better!!" Scrolling through reviews, he found one that was relatively close and booked himself an appointment. It was tomorrow, so he could think about it later. He got up to throw some sticky note reminders up on his walls. He put three on the ceiling above his bed.  _ Now _ he felt like he could do stuff. He grabbed his sketchbook, pencil, and pens, sitting back down on his bed. He sat the puppet right next to him, and talked to him absently as he doodled the day away.

**Author's Note:**

> in my docs this was literally called "i call this one,,, ode to kinning" and I think that's very epic of me


End file.
